


Can't Be, Won't Be

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: Of Broken Hearts and Kindred Spirits [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Dubious Consent, He doesn't cope well, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mercedes is an angel, Pre-Relationship, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Sylvain is gay, Underage Sex, no beta we die like men, not graphic, so is Felix but he doesn't know that yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: He’s ten when Miklan gets kicked out.-Modern AU where a gay Sylvain cannot deal with the fact he's gay.





	Can't Be, Won't Be

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first fic in a series for this AU. 
> 
> Since there's no crests, Miklan never had a reason to hate Sylvain. Still gets disowned though.
> 
> Please mind the tags, and let me know if there's any glaring errors I missed in editing.
> 
> Also I messed around with character ages a bit. Just roll with it.

He’s ten when Miklan gets kicked out.

His father got a call over dinner, from one of the parents of Miklan’s friends. They’d found messages between them.

His brother means the world to him, always there, always protecting. He doesn’t understand why his parents are suddenly so angry.

Words drip from his parent’s lips like poison. The heat of anger and hatred filling them.

_ “Disgusting” “Faggot” “Queer” _

Each one the thust of a new knife in his heart. He barely understands what they mean. Doesn’t understand the implication of what his brother’s words meant, how his parent’s only heard _ “impure” “immoral” “wrong” _. He doesn't understand why the words hurt. 

Miklan tries to argue, tries to come up with a reason, an excuse. Anything. 

His mother sneers, his father raises a fist.

“I always knew you came out wrong.”

Miklan hits the ground with a thud, blood on his lip where their father’s hand connected with his face. 

“Get out,” the words are scary. More terrifying than Sylvain had ever heard from his father. 

Miklan pushes himself up on unsteady feet. He’s crying, of course he’s crying. Sylvain is crying too, from his spot at the dining room table. The food was all but forgotten. He wants to help, but he’s scared.

“I never want to see you again,” his mother snarls

Miklan listens. 

He runs out the door, and doesn’t come back.

* * *

Sylvain’s thirteen when he realizes he’s gay. 

He’s sitting in class, the first day of eighth grade, when he notices the boy. Brown hair and matching brown eyes, face dotted with freckles.

He’s smitten, and terrified.

Three years and Miklan is never far from his mind. He remembers the cold stare of his father, the angry tears of his mother. The disappointment, the rage. 

He remembered the boy last year that everybody thought was gay. They rammed into him in the hallway, slammed him into lockers. He had to transfer _ schools _.

He remembered the look his friends gave him with they found out about Miklan. One part horror, one part confusion. 

Nobody could find out. They’d think he was disgusting, a deviant. His friends wouldn't want to talk to him anymore, his parents would lose their minds. He'd be lucky to make it out unscathed. 

No, he couldn't tell anybody. 

There's a girl in his class that the other boys call pretty. He says hello to her instead.

When they call the boy a faggot, Sylvain doesn't stop them. Eventually, he joins them.

* * *

He’s fifteen when he realizes he’s in love with Felix. It's literally the worst thing he could possibly feel. 

Glenn is dead, and Felix is so distant from them all. He's grieving in his own way, they all are, but Sylvain just wants his best friend back. That seems impossible now.

If Felix found out, everything would be even worse. He’d hate him, never want to speak to him again. But he misses him so much, heart aching every time a message goes unanswered. 

He stops sharing a bed with him when they sleep over, not that they do much anyways anymore. He stops hugging him, let's distance fall between them. It hurts more than anything he ever felt, but it's better this way. Better to let him leave than find out the truth. 

To make it worse, his parents are wondering why he hasn't had a girlfriend yet. They’re paying close attention after Miklan, more worried that this kid is going to turn out _ wrong _too. Where would he even go if he were kicked out? 

They question him, so he asks a girl out the next day. She's pretty and blonde, her blue eyes sparkle. He ignores the way his skin crawls when she smiles and says, “Of course.”

They break up a week later, he can’t stand her longer than that. She’s nice enough, and soft, but it just feels wrong. He feels corrupted, broken.

He's scared and alone and lost, hurting but can never tell a soul. 

It's almost an impulse when he picks up his father's razor. 

* * *

He’s sixteen the first time he sneaks into a bar. 

His friends hate him, call him a skirt chaser, whore, sleeze. Felix barely speaks to him anymore, and he can't blame him. He has no redeeming qualities, wastes his time, nd is general all around annoying. 

Sylvain can't blame them. After all, he hates himself too.

He sneaks out after the sun goes down, catches buses to his destination. He could have driven, but it was too much of a risk. His parents could see the car missing, question where he went, go looking for him. It was too dangerous to drive.

It takes an hour to get there, and he’s really not dressed for clubbing. Nobody’s going to believe he’s legal. He tries anyways.

The bouncer barely glances at his fake ID before allowing him entry. It isn’t until later that Sylvain realizes the burly man definitely knew, and just didn’t care. 

The music is loud enough it makes his headache, and he can feel the beat in his bones. Men are grinding against men, laughing and dancing. Women are flirting at the bar. It felt wrong to be there. His parents would kill him if they knew, actually, literally, kill him.

When a handsome man with a charming smile offers him a drink, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

Alcohol tastes how he imagines battery acid would, but he finishes it anyways. Even the sweet drinks, ones he can feel himself call girly, don’t taste all that great. What he does like however, is the feeling that hits him as he stands. Like the world is melting away. The man offers him a second, and then a third.

By the time he’d finished he's thoroughly trashed. The world is spinning, but for once everything feels _ right _. Feels like this is where he is supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be. The man is three times his age, Sylvain doesn’t know if he realizes his (He does).

When he asks him to come back to his place, Sylvain knows he should say no. It's dangerous, wrong. Every lesson he’s ever learned about strangers and gays tells him it’s a bad idea.

He agrees anyways.

For once, everything feels right. Even while he’s being pushed down on the bed being kissed like he never had before. His skin doesn’t itch or crawl, he doesn’t feel bile rising in his throat. It’s so different, but it feels right.

The man doesn't question the scars on his arms and legs, he’s thankful. He isn’t sure how he would explain them.

At some point during the exchange, he moans Felix’s name. The man doesn't question, and Sylvain is far too gone to care.

Hours later, in the predawn light, he sneaks back through his bedroom window. His lower back hurts and his head is still spinning. Guilt pools in his stomach.

He goes back the next week.

* * *

He’s seventeen, and he can’t live like this anymore. 

The knowledge that this is his life, that he's destined to live in secret, is too much. He’s disgusting and broken, used and worthless. If his parents ever found out, they’d definitely kill him. Maybe it would be better if they did.

He stares at the stars, still twinkling above him even as he feels like the sky is falling. It’s cruel, in a way. Knowledge that he makes no difference, that even after tonight, the sun will still rise. Who would miss him?

The men he sleeps with wouldn’t. They’ll go home to their wives and kids, keep living the lie and pretending they’re not perverted, broken. Would his friends? No, they barely spoke anymore. Fuck he wishes they did. Wishes he could go to them and spill his secrets, beg them to make him feel less fucking alone. He misses them, especially in times like these. Maybe, in a different world, he could have been honest. Could have confessed how he felt about men, about Felix. But no, that was wishful thinking.

The last time he spoke to Felix was two weeks ago, they argued. He called him weak and disgusting. Well, he wasn’t wrong, this is proof of that. If Felix knew that the women he flirts with made his skin crawl, it would be even worse. If he knew that he was the only person Sylvain looked at, the only person he wanted, he'd hate him even more.

He's drunk, a bottle and a half of whiskey does that to a person, but he doesn’t care. If he were sober, he would have been surprised he was still conscious.

The bridge is high up, water moving slowly in the ravine below, framed by rocks.

Everything is just too much. He can’t fucking do it anymore. This is his only option, his only way out.

SIlently, he sends an apology to all the people he let down. Ingrid, Dimitri, his parents, Miklan, Felix... and then he jumps.

His bones break on impact. He’s vaguely aware of pain after the landing, but the memory quickly fades, along with his consciousness. 

Somebody must have found him, because the next thing he knows he wakes up in the ICU four days later. His mother is there, eyes red and puffy. His father stands sternly by the door. 

He tells them he fell. He was with a girl, she must have run off. 

He knows they don’t believe him. 

* * *

He leaves for college the day he turns eighteen. Garreg Mach is as far away as his parents will allow, but it's still enough to have freedom.

It's refreshing to be away from home. He feels less like he’s suffocating every time he wakes up. Feels like he can breathe for the first time since childhood.

Caspar, his roommate, is nice enough. He’s a little intense, and kind of wants to fight everything, but he isn’t Felix.

The girl in the room next door is named Mercedes, and she is lovely. Going into her third year of her undergraduate degree, she still tries to make him feel welcome.

Things feel... good, for the first time in maybe forever.

It takes a couple months, but he comes out to his small group of friends one by one (Mercedes finds out first of course. She isn't at all surprised. They aren't as shocked as he expected them to be. Well, Dorothea isn't. Caspar, Ferdinand, and Leonie sure are.

After one too many breakdowns, It’s Mercedes who drags him to the school’s mental health services, bugs him about taking medication and practicing self care. She teaches him how to do eyeliner, even though drag isn’t his thing (He tried it, once. It felt wrong, but maybe it was just him).

His orientation isn’t public knowledge. He still flirts with girls, much to Mercedes' dismay, and honestly probably Dorothea’s. But his friends know, and they support him in their own, weird, ways.

Its... better. Not perfect - he has a panic attack in class more than once, spends days unable to get out of bed - but it’s better.

* * *

He gets a tattoo for his nineteenth birthday. Well, half of one.

Currently it’s just the line work, but he’s coming back in a couple weeks to finish it. It covers his left arm, and hides the rigged scars beneath it. The tattoo artist doesn’t say anything, which he’s thankful for.

Mercedes goes with him, and treats him to lunch after.

His parents are going to lose their shit when they find out, but for once, he can’t bring himself to care.

* * *

He’s twenty when he realizes he can’t run from fate. 

It comes, as it always had, in the form of Felix Fucking Fraldarius.

He just wants to live the fantasy a little while longer.

Sylvain dearly wishes he had died under that bridge.


End file.
